


Through Adrienne's Eyes

by Team_Two_Cats



Series: Without a Voice, Viewed Through the Eyes of Stars [2]
Category: Suikoden IV, Suikoden Series (Video Games)
Genre: Dancing, F/F, Flirting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:06:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26200864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Team_Two_Cats/pseuds/Team_Two_Cats
Summary: In celebration of nothing at all, the crew of the Dauntless throws a party, and a blacksmith and a mercenary share a dance and the promise of much much more.
Relationships: Adrienne/Ameria
Series: Without a Voice, Viewed Through the Eyes of Stars [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1871125





	Through Adrienne's Eyes

They say if all you have is a hammer, everything looks like a nail. But let me tell you, as a blacksmith, I fucking hate nails. So that saying lacks a certain...imagination, I'd say.

Just look at Lazlo. They'd say just because he's got the Rune of Punishment on his hand, everything must look like a target. His rune a great hand and every problem a quivering buttock in need of a good smack. And hey, there's a time and a place for that sort of thing. From what I hear, it's when Lazlo and Snowe are alone in their quarters, Snowe trussed and tied, naked but for that adorable little collar and a whole lot of chains. Which I linked myself, thank you very much.

But where was I? Oh right. Hammers. Nails. 

Let me set the scene another way. Imagine the starry sky. And ship done up like a festival at sea, in the middle of the inky dark, over a hundred people carrying on like the war is already won and over. Even Eleanor has a smile on her face, watching Agnes and Tanya glare each other down over plates of finger food. There's no way those two aren't going to end up in each other's bed, though tonight or tomorrow or when is still in question.

I'm not one for parties, myself, but I couldn't keep away from this one. There's an energy, a heat, from so many people. A forge's fire that I can almost taste. That reshapes things. So I stay at the periphery and watch the bolder of the couples dance. Sigurd and Hervey, Jewel and Paula, a lot of the others. Lazlo signing something to Lino, though over the distance I can't make it out. Lots of people hovering around the food tables where Gary and Ema and Funghi and Kevin and Pam serve up all sorts of delicacies. 

There are notable absences. Kika is nowhere to be found, though few would be surprised to know I saw her headed toward the bow of the ship, one of her favorite haunts, eyes locked across the water on her ship. Ted of course is missing, and Aldo too, though maybe the two will put in an appearance later. 

We're celebrating the new moon, which is to say we're celebrating still being alive and together. It helps to keep morale up and...we all know that it can't last. There will come a time when the crisis is over, the invasion turned back, the day saved. And we'll drift away. So we celebrate because we're together, and we can.

It's an almost formal affair, people dressed up in dresses and suits. Phil has been busy for weeks. I've been busy myself, working on armors and bracers, boots and helms. But I'm wearing a three piece that I've had since before the war. The vest is tight over my chest, the jacket and pants still hugging every curve like a lover. It's been a long time since I took it out, since I cared enough to look dressed to kill. My tool of choice might be a hammer, but that doesn't mean I can't put it down.

And then the reason I care how I look is walking across the deck towards me, wearing a slinky gown and spiked heels. I swallow, remembering the rest of the order she put in with the same order as the boots. None of which she's wearing now but that I haven't been able to get out of my head since. Cat mask. Leather. I take a sip of my drink to hide the rising heat in my face and body. I feign cool as she sways closer.

"A little cool along the railing, isn't it?" Ameria asks.

I roll a shrug and take another sip of my drink before answering. "Maybe if I was wearing as little as you."

Ameria frowns. "You don't like it?" she asks, and does a little turn that makes my heart falter, my mouth suddenly bone dry. 

Another sip. I shake my head. "I wouldn't say that," I say. "Just that you must be cold. I might suggest a place to warm up, if you like?"

Ameria rolls her eyes. "Your quarters?"

I do my best lazy grin. "Given that everyone's busy up here, it's a shorter walk to the forge. I always keep it warm, and there are some shadowed corners where two people could get to all sorts of mischief, regardless of how much closes they're wearing...or not wearing."

Now it's her turn to flush. She glances back to the rest of the party.

"It's a tempting offer, but..." She reaches out and captures my free hand, leads me away from the railing and toward the makeshift dance floor. "I think there are other ways to stay warm and still enjoy the party."

I don't fight her, just leave my drink on one of the tables we pass. It might not be my scene, but only a fool would try to force the matter with a woman like Ameria.

Hammers. Nails. We dance, my own clumsiness covered by her grace, her fighter's body as adept at the steps as they are at fighting. I lead as best I can, hands taking in the softness of her dress, the warmth of her skin. The gown is silver with a deep v in the front where a sheer mesh reveals a body better sculpted than anything Gareth could make, regardless of his boasts. 

"You clean up nice," America says, trailing a hand over my jacket, sliding it to grave over my vest. I shiver despite the heat coursing through me.

"Still haven't gotten around to trying that makeup you recommended," I say. "I'm afraid the heat of the forge would ruin it."

Ameria cocks her head to the side, studying my face. "I might prefer you like this. It's...rugged. Like if I kissed you I'd taste the salt of your sweat."

I want to groan with what that image does to me but I suppress it. 

"You probably would," I say. It's all I can think to say, all I can do not to press the matter by closing the distance between us. Hammers. Nails. But I don't, just let the words linger as she looks up at me, smile slowly spreading across her mouth. 

And then it's her hand behind my head pulling it down, her lips meeting lip like the kiss of molten metal in oil. And the beating of my heart seems to drown out the music and the sounds of the dozen conversations going on around us. There's just those lips, just the heat and promise of it.

She pulls back and our eyes seem to open at the same time, and in hers I can see a spark that kiss has made. A spark I want to fan into something consuming, alive. She leans against me as the music slows, and we sway shaped to fit each other, the night and the party a blanket we wrap around ourselves. And when the music stops and the other couples wander back to the food or to grab a new glass of wine or grog, we keep swaying, our bodies enough to keep away the thoughts of tomorrow, the war, the eventual breaking of what this has been. 

We dance, until the music returns and then fades again. Until the last of the crew either retires or passes out on the deck. Until at last we let the spark kindle into a fire that burns in the shadowed corners near the forge, where we lose our clothes and find that hammers and nails both yield to an intense enough heat.

**Author's Note:**

> This pairing comes mostly thanks to the fact that Ameria hangs out right by Adrienne on the ship. But they're super hot as a couple, imo. I like the character designs of both and I mean it makes sense that Ameria is your high femme lesbian and Adrienne is your classic butch. The rest wrote itself.


End file.
